Ship of Fools (12 page)

“We don’t believe he is on the ship anymore. We believe he took one of the shuttles and escaped to Antioch.”

“But if he
is
on the ship?” I asked.

“Do you have such knowledge?” the bishop asked.

I shook my head. There were glances and shrugs; the bishop continued to study me, probably not believing my denial. Finally Nikos spoke.

“As you said, no exceptions were mentioned during the vote. As distasteful as I would find it, I would say the agreement applied to Pär Lundkvist as well.” He paused. “Unless there are objections, if he
is
on the
Argonos
, he will remain a free man.”

There were no objections, at least none were raised, and with that the emergency session concluded. Afterwards, Nikos did not say a word to me.

P
ÄR
was waiting for me in my quarters. He was sitting in a chair in the front room, rubbing at his eyes; my entrance had awakened him.

“How did you get in?” I asked.

He grinned. “I learned a lot about this ship during my exile. I’ve been waiting a long time.”

I was annoyed with him. I had been more than grateful for the regular deliveries of his coffee all those months I was imprisoned, but that seemed washed away by his violating the privacy of my quarters. I stood unmoving, staring at him. As though reading my thoughts, he got to his feet and said, “I shouldn’t have done it this way. Sorry. I’ll go.”

I shook my head, my annoyance already fading, overwhelmed by exhaustion and the fear of losing one of the few friends I had.

“Forget it,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.” I gave him a tired smile. “I’m glad to see you. Unfortunately, I can’t offer you anything to eat or drink. The food system isn’t working, and the shelves are empty.”

“That’s all right,” he said, reaching behind the chair he’d been sitting in when I first entered. “I came prepared.”
He held up a thermal pot. “All you have to provide are cups.”

We sat with the pot between us, and I sipped the coffee; just as good as always.

“That meant a lot to me,” I said, holding up my cup. “I was surprised you were willing to take the risk.”

Pär shrugged. “So was I, to be honest.” He shrugged again. “Extreme circumstances . . . I don’t know.”

I cocked my head at him, his presence finally sinking in. I felt stupid for not realizing it earlier. “Have you already heard?” I asked.

“About the charges being dropped?” he replied, grinning.

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“Who the hell is your source of information?”

Still grinning, Pär shook his head. “Not even for you, Bartolomeo.” He paused, and breathed deeply. “I also hear you’re in charge of exploring the alien starship.”

“Yes.”

“I want to be a part of it.”

I stared hard at him. He was serious, as serious as I had ever seen him. “Why?” I asked.

“I did a lot of thinking while I was in hiding. Lots of time for it. I am sick to death of life on this ship. Look at us. You and I are a couple of freaks. But the reality is, this entire ship is
filled
with freaks. We don’t know how to live normal human lives anymore. Living from birth to death inside this hunk of metal is unnatural, and I think it’s done unnatural things to us.”

I was reminded of my first extended conversation with Father Veronica, during which she’d said something very similar.

“And how is the alien ship going to help that?”

“Hell, I don’t know. But it’s something different, and I mean
really
different. Whatever happens out there, good or bad or something in between, it doesn’t matter, it’s got to do something for us, got to
change
us. We had a chance
for something on Antioch. It didn’t work out. All right. Now we’ve got another chance. An alien starship or whatever it is.
Truly
alien. I don’t think people understand the enormity of what we’ve found, of what we have ahead of us, of the possibilities. I’ve been thinking about it a lot during the last few weeks, and sometimes I feel like my mind is going to explode. But the Executive Committee seems to be treating it like . . . I don’t know, like we’re exploring the ruins of some small abandoned colony on a nice risk-free, habitable world somewhere.” He shook his head in disbelief. “That ship could swallow us whole, and it might just do that for all we know. We could find the answers to cosmological mysteries, we could find out what our place is in the universe, we could find the way to eternal life.”

“We could find our deaths,” I said.

“That, too,” he replied, nodding. “And I don’t think we have a sense of that on this ship anymore. I suspect that’s something we would all benefit from.”

My exoskeleton vibrated, and I wanted to scream. Damn Nikos. I decided I would have to see one of the neuro-techs to have the system disabled.

“I want on that ship, Bartolomeo. I need it.”

I nodded. “I don’t know how much authority I’ll have, but I’ll do what I can. If I can get you on, I will.”

“Thanks.”

He poured us fresh coffee, leaned back in the chair, and let out a sigh.

“What was it like?” I asked him.

“What? Hiding out?” When I nodded, he smiled and said, “Enlightening. What was prison like?”

“Boring.”

Pär laughed.

The exoskeleton vibrated again, and I cursed.

“What?” Pär asked.

I explained.

“How the hell did Captain Nikos talk you into that?” he asked.

I grimaced. “He didn’t,” I admitted. “It was my own idea. And it was a bad one.”

Pär laughed again.

“Glad you’re so amused,” I said. “I’ve got to get the thing disabled.”

Pär finally stopped laughing. “I know someone who can take care of it.”

“Soon,” I said.

He nodded. “Tonight, or first thing tomorrow. I’ll arrange it.”

I thanked him, then got up to look for a small bottle of whiskey I had been saving for years, waiting for just the right occasion. This seemed as good as any; I suspected the kind of special occasion I had hoped for when I was younger was never going to occur. I found the bottle, a couple of glasses, then poured some for each of us.

“That’s good,” Pär said.

“A lot better than that stuff you usually have.” I sipped at the whiskey, relishing the smooth burn licking down my throat and into my gut. I thought again about Nikos and his drinking.

“I think the captain’s developed a drinking problem,” I said to Pär.

He nodded. “That’s what my sources tell me. If he’s not careful, he’ll go the way of General Wainwright.”

“How
did
General Wainwright go?”

“You haven’t heard yet?”

“Too much going on in too short a time. All I know is he’s been replaced by Geller.”

“He came into a council session so far out on Passion that he couldn’t speak. He’d finally gone too far. They voted him off the council, and confined him in the psychiatric ward for a hard withdrawal. He’s still there, and I don’t think he’s ever going to get out.” Pär leaned forward. “One more thing of interest,” he said. “Arne Gronvold’s banishment has been rescinded. Not only that, he’s been reinstated on the Planning Committee.”

I was reminded of Nikos’s clandestine meetings with Arne; I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that Arne
was betraying the insurrection. Probably because Nikos had been meeting with Arne for months before I was even aware of the plans myself; even so, I’d thought Arne’s sympathies were with the downsiders. I’d obviously thought wrong.

“I guess we know what happened, then,” I said.

Pär nodded. “I guess we do. That bastard.”

“Which one?” I asked. “Arne or Nikos?”

Pär just grinned.

There was a banging at the door. Nikos called out my name, his voice only partly muted.

“Bartolomeo, I know you’re there! Open the door!”

I thought about ignoring him, but that would only be putting off the inevitable. I put down my glass, got up, and went to the door.

“Damn you, Bartolomeo, what the hell was . . . ?” His voice trailed off when he saw Pär behind me. Nikos was at a loss for words, something I had rarely seen.

Pär stood and said, “I’ll go.”

I shook my head. “No, don’t.” Then, to Nikos: “What did you want?”

Anger flushed his face, and his eyes went hard. He stared at Pär. “So you are still aboard, little man. I’d hoped you’d taken that damn shuttle.”

“I’m still here.”

Nikos turned to me, furious. “We have to talk, Bartolomeo. We need to move before anyone has second thoughts. We’ve got to select the exploration team, and you and I need to talk before we start choosing people. I got you out, remember? Now it’s your turn.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Schedule the selection meeting for three hours from now, or a little later if you have to. And I’ll meet you in your quarters in an hour.”

“No, not there.”

“Where, then?”

“You know where I’ll be.” He turned and strode away.

I closed the door, but didn’t turn around; I stared at the dark green panel, as if I would find answers in it. I wasn’t even sure what the questions were.

“Ah, old friends,” Pär said.

I turned around, expecting to see him grinning at me, but his expression was dead serious.

“He’ll be dangerous as an enemy,” Pär said. “Better if you could somehow stay friends.”

I shook my head. “It’s too late for that.”

T
HE
Wasteland was hot and dry. Unlike the other nature rooms, the Wasteland had no seasons, no weather changes. I stood just inside the ground entrance, dizzy from the heat and blinking against the glare reflecting from the sand and white rock. The designer of this room had been brilliant—looking in any direction from any location, the desert appeared to continue without end, or at least for many kilometers, stretching to the vague suggestion of distant dunes.

Formally named the Desert Conservatory, the Wasteland was the largest of the nature rooms, and also the least frequented; but Nikos had always liked it. He would spend hours there when he needed to think, or needed to escape from the pressures of the captaincy. When we were young, fifteen or sixteen, he had brought me there and tried to explain why he loved it so much. I hadn’t understood at the time, but over the years I came to appreciate his fascination for the place, although I never could shake my own unease, and avoided it like nearly everyone else did.

I scanned the Wasteland, searching the shadows of cacti and rocks, taking in everything several times before I finally
spotted Nikos sitting with his back against a large boulder, gazing into the distance.

A dull ache worked its way through my chest as I thought about all the years we’d known each other, everything we’d been through. I walked toward him slowly, surprisingly apprehensive; I didn’t relish any more intimate conversations. When I was a few meters away, I stopped and waited in silence.

“You never did like it here,” Nikos said without looking at me.

“No.”

“That always surprised me. It was one of the few ways you were like everyone else on this ship.” He finally turned and looked up at me. “I don’t think you understand what’s going on aboard this ship.”

“Maybe not, but you don’t either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. I’m not sure anybody really does.”

He nodded, resigned. “Except maybe the bishop.”

“No, not even the bishop. He probably thinks he does, but he knows less than he imagines. I would guess that’s how it is with most of us.”

Nikos stared out across the bleached sand, the scattered cacti and rock. “Walk with me a while, Bartolomeo.”

We walked together across the hot sand, an arm’s length apart. I’d already lost my orientation, and when I looked around, I found I could not locate the entrance I’d used; I was struck by the irrational fear that I might never be able to find my way out of there. Or that Nikos would murder me. My body could remain undiscovered for decades.

“We’ve been friends a lot of years, Bartolomeo.”

“
Were
friends,” I corrected him.

“No more?”

“I don’t think so, Nikos.”

He stopped, turned, and looked at me, his expression steady. If he’d been drinking recently, I couldn’t tell. Everything about him seemed sober and firm.

“We’ve both made mistakes. Out of fear, or mistrust.
Or perhaps even simple misunderstanding. Whatever the reasons. But is the damage to our friendship irreparable?”

I’d thought so, but suddenly I was unsure. Watching him, listening to him, I was unable to detect any dissembling. He seemed sincere. Nikos could be deceptive and manipulative, but I always thought I could see through him. I’d missed it before, although looking back on it, I realized the signs had been there—I just hadn’t recognized them; maybe because I hadn’t wanted to. Now, though, I saw nothing but a sincere effort at reconciliation.

“I don’t know,” I finally said.

“Honest enough. I don’t know either. But I’m prepared to make the effort, if you are.”

“Because you’re desperate, and you need my help?”

“No, although both those things are true. It’s possible, maybe even likely, that I’m going to lose everything in the coming weeks. But if I go down, I’d rather not go alone.”

“You want to drag me down with you.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” I said. “But you’re not alone. You have Aiyana.”

“Yes, and that’s a comfort. But it’s not enough.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” I told him.

He nodded. “Do that, Bartolomeo.” He paused. “Now, let’s talk about who we want on the team.”

I
stepped into the dark, silent transport hold and came to a halt, searching through the shadows. When I saw the bulky forms of the shuttles, my chest tightened, cutting off my breath. Almost a year, but the memory of that day was still vivid, and carried with it everything that had happened since—five masked and armored men coming for me with electronic shackles; the days of waiting for a trial that never occurred, then the months of isolation and deathly tedium; the fear that I would go out of my mind; my release, and the end of a lifelong friendship with Nikos; the awe and wonder of an alien starship; and finally this: preparing to lead an exploration of that ship with all of its dangers and wonderful possibilities.

My life would have been so different if the insurrection had been successful.
Everything
about it would have been different. I would not be here, I reminded myself; I would be on Antioch. I might be dead by now, killed by some strange and deadly organism or toxin, or an accident caused by unforeseeable dangers. Or I might be sitting on the bank of a river, watching the water flowing past filled with alien aquatic life, basking in the heat of the sun.

I turned and looked at the hold doors, which were now
closed and lifeless. I would never forget the sight of the harvesters rising into view, that silent and terrible nuclear fire slowly swirling, hypnotizing me. My world coming to an end. Or so it seemed at the time. It was only changing, but I hadn’t understood that.

Across the hold, the shuttles were nearly lost in the darkness, camouflaged by shadow. The tiny firefly lights far above me provided just enough light to illuminate the floor. I walked toward the largest of the shuttles, my footsteps echoing dully.

I had asked for complete authority over the expedition, and was granted most of it. First, I’d decided the trips in the maintenance module were inefficient. Instead, I would take eleven other people on one of the shuttles, with enough supplies and support for several weeks, and we’d park the shuttle right beside the alien starship. With twelve people, we could form three teams of four, or four of three, depending on which seemed more effective. We would stay there and make regular trips, sharing information and insights, intuitions and assessments. We’d learn how to work together, we’d acquire a feel for the ship, and the exploration would be our only focus.

That’s what I hoped for. I didn’t really know if it would work that way, but it made more sense to me than the haphazard, directionless excursions that had been undertaken in the weeks since the alien ship had been discovered.

I stopped in front of the shuttle, tried to look into its darkened interior, but I couldn’t see a thing. Twelve of us, plus the pilots and a med-tech. It was a good team, for the most part. A couple of people I was apprehensive about: Eric Casterman, the bishop’s man; and Aiyana, which showed how much Nikos trusted me—as much as I trusted him, apparently. But there were also good, experienced people like Sherry Winton, Trace Youngman, and Leona Frip, who had all spent a lot of time in the alien ship. William Rogers and a man called Starlin, neither of whom had spent time on the ship, but who were by all accounts both competent and diligent. Rita Hollings, who Costino said was the best “fixer” on the
Argonos
—she could repair or jury-rig
almost anything. Also part of the team were Maria Vegas, Toller’s apprentice, and Margita Cardenas—Cardenas was my biggest surprise, and the best. And finally, Pär. I had to fight for him, but I won.

I put my hand against the shuttle hull. It was cold and hard, but not as cold as it would be out there in deep space. In a few hours the preparations would begin—not just provisioning the shuttle, but modifying it. One of the cargo bays would be converted to a combination air lock/ decontamination chamber. Sleeping cots and food preparation equipment would be installed. We would need a large monitor to follow the teams, and a wide variety of equipment and tools, testing and measurement instruments. The list went on. Four days. Maybe five.

“Hey.”

The voice startled me. I couldn’t see anyone, couldn’t hear anything. Then Francis stepped silently out of the shadows.

I hardly recognized him. He had grown, and was taller and lankier now. His hair was long and ragged.

“Hello, Francis.”

“Hm,” was all he said at first. He twisted his head and neck and I heard a soft cracking sound. “I want to go with you,” he said.

“Go with me? Where?”

“To the alien starship.”

I almost laughed, but I realized he was serious. “The team’s already been selected.”

“Change it,” he said. “Or just add me. I want to see it. Take me with you.”

“I can’t, Francis. Besides, you’re too young.”

“I am not. I’m older than you think. I’m older than I am.”

I suspected there was a lot of truth to that statement. But I couldn’t do what he wanted.

“I’m sorry, Francis.”

“I thought you were different,” he said. “You’re all the same.”

“Francis . . .”

He turned and, just as quickly and silently as he had appeared, retreated into the shadows behind the shuttle.

I felt bad, as if I had made some mistake, or misunderstood something. I almost called after him, but held back. There was something about Francis that moved me, and I wished I knew how to make things better between us. But I felt stupid, and had no idea what to do.

Footsteps broke into my thoughts. I turned, and saw Father Veronica standing just inside the hold, scanning the darkness.

“Bartolomeo?”

“I’m here.”

“Where? I can’t see you.”

I stepped away from the shuttle. She saw me and started across the metal floor, her steps loud and echoing.

“Pär told me you would probably be here.” She smiled, and seemed genuinely pleased to see me. “So it’s true, you’ve been released.” Her smiled faded. “I’m sorry I never could visit again. You asked me to let it go, but of course I couldn’t. For a while I tried to convince Bishop Soldano or the captain that you should be allowed visitors, but it was futile. I finally stopped trying after two or three months. But I thought of you often.”

“Did you pray for me?”

“Not the way you might think.” I thought she was going to explain, but she didn’t.

“I tried to see you as soon as I was released,” I told her.

“Yes, Father George told me.”

“He said you were gone, and that no one knew where you were.”

She nodded. I waited for an explanation, but it soon became obvious she was not going to give me one.

“He seems to think the alien ship has been delivered to us by Satan,” I added.

I expected her to laugh, or at least smile, but instead she sighed. “There’s something about that ship, Bartolomeo, something . . .”

“Evil?” I suggested.

“Not exactly. Malign, perhaps.”

“I’m not sure I understand the difference.”

“Perhaps malign is the wrong word. ‘Dangerous’ might be better. Lethal. But without intent. I don’t know, I can’t explain what it is I feel, but it’s something substantial.” She glanced at the shuttle. “Is this the one you’ll be taking?”

“Yes.” I hesitated. “I wish you were going with us.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “Despite my reservations about that ship. Bishop Soldano told me that Eric Casterman would be going as the Church’s representative, and I asked if I could replace him. The bishop refused.” She paused. “Perhaps it’s better this way.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is, that’s all.”

I wanted to know what she was thinking, but apparently she wasn’t going to tell me.

“How soon are you going?” she said.

“Four days. Maybe five. I don’t think there’s any rush.”

“Let me know when everything is ready, and I’ll come by and bless the ship.”

“And will you pray for our success?”

“Someday we’ll have to talk about that.”

“Talk about what?”

“Prayer. Most people have the wrong idea about it.”

“And what’s that?”

“That prayer is to ask for things. To make requests of God.”

“It’s not? Then what is it?”

She shook her head. “Some other time, Bartolomeo. It’s a serious subject, and not to be dealt with lightly.”

“All right, some other time.”

“Do let me know when you’re prepared to leave.”

“I will.”

She turned, and I watched her walk away, feeling as always an aching sense of loss. Pathetic.